


let's kill tonight

by auxanges



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Doggy Style, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/pseuds/auxanges
Summary: Dave’s eyebrows rise above the tops of his shades. “A hunter, huh? Don’t you have a marshmallow man to chase?”“He’s chasing somethin’ else,” you mutter, downing half your drink.Your fang whistles, unhurried. The hunter bristles. “Look, if you’re not interested—”“I did not,” he interrupts, “say we weren’t interested.”
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Eridan Ampora/Dave Strider, Eridan Ampora/Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Eridan Ampora/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: Homestuck Polyswap 2020 - Derse





	let's kill tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardlicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/gifts).



> prompt: "A werewolf, a vampire, and a hunter walk into a bar...."
> 
> i remove my shirt to reveal a full back tattoo that just says werewolf eridan ampora in ornate calligraphy with a skeleton riding a motorcycle underneath

“Is this the bar for taxonomically questionable hookups?”

“No, this is the fuckin’ Pulitzer convention.” You don’t look up; you rarely do. You’ve been haunting this dive for the past six years or so, ever since you sprang from your pack and kinda wandered along the border looking for trouble.

Trouble last year had jet-black hair and a territorial streak that rivaled your old man’s. By the time you were done licking your wounds in begrudging silence, new trouble surfaced with a bloodless face and an accent that sticks to the insides of your skull. That trouble’s currently getting you a refill of Jack and Coke, and whatever he likes to mix with AB neg.

The stranger is silent. For about five seconds. Then, “You’re kind of an uppity little mutt, aren’t you?”

Your nails scrape against your empty glass, and you push it away with a grimace. “I’m not little,” you point out.

“Seriously? That’s what you take offense to? This is not exactly promising for the rest of my evening.”

But oh, you know what this is. You grew up in a massive pack and drifted in and out of several others—nine times out of ten you recognize challenges before whoever’s throwing it realizes what they’re doing. But all you can smell on this shithead is half a whisky sour and…and—

“Hunter.”

You lean out of your seat, towards his barstool. Six feet and change of werewolf genes play to your advantage; you show your teeth.

He’d come up to your shoulders, if you were both standing. Under the harsh lighting, you can make out calling cards across his temple not unlike your older brother’s fucked-up face. He’s scruffy around the ears, flushed at the throat with drink and adrenaline, _and_ _silver is caked into his scent and you want to tear it out and replace it with yourself_

_and_

“Jack and Coke for the lady.”

Dave has been around for the past two centuries and has yet to learn 1) how to sit in a chair and 2) how to read a fuckin’ room. He hoists himself up onto the bar, mumbling something under his breath about potential stickiness factors, before taking a long sip from his straw and (you presume) glancing at you. “What’d I miss?”

“Top Gun here would like a one-night stand with the circus.” You gesture to the hunter, who’s stopped staring at you to stare at Dave. You can’t really blame him: he was a lanky son of a bitch long before he kicked the bucket, if that portrait he showed you at his place that one time is to be believed. 

Dave’s eyebrows rise above the tops of his shades. “A hunter, huh? Don’t you have a marshmallow man to chase?”

“He’s chasing somethin’ else,” you mutter, downing half your drink.

Your fang whistles, unhurried. The hunter bristles. “Look, if you’re not interested—”

“I did not,” he interrupts, “say we weren’t interested.” Dave has this drawl that’s better than anything his bite can give you, and you have spent many interesting moons just kinda waling on one another, you would know. You do know.

This guy catches on pretty quick. “Karkat,” he says finally, extending a hand.

“Dave.” He shakes first, then you. “The sentient frowny emoji here is Eridan.”

Karkat’s handshake is tight, warm; his pinky wraps around yours; you can see the ripple of muscle in his forearm. Your other hand goes up to signal the bartender for a whisky sour refill.

* * *

The bed protests with the three of you on it. You don’t know how old this shithole is and you never plan on asking, lest you or Dave start thinking you’re too good for cheap room and board. The light above you flickers every few minutes, and the springs creak at a pitch that makes your teeth rattle; you shove Karkat onto the bed, and in the on-off-on artificial glow his face is almost serene.

Almost. “Ow, fuck. Your nails are sharp.”

“Nut up,” you growl, working his jeans open with one hand and your own with the other. “You wanted the full experience, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” the hunter breathes, and it settles over you like a balm. Funny—when he’s not playing hardass, his voice is nearly pleasing. “Yeah.”

Dave shimmies up the bed as gracefully as possible. He drops trou like a goddamn virgin, only without the blush because, you know.

Karkat, bless his fucked-up little heart, pauses. “Hold on. How can you even—how can—”

“You know what, bro, don’t think about it too hard. Otherwise you’ll burst something and that’ll just be embarrassing for all three of us.”

“Jesus Christ with a side of fuck me,” Karkat mutters. You roll your eyes at Dave over his head, and give the guy a little encouraging shove down.

Wow, hey, his back arches real nice. It makes your dick twitch a little against the inside of his thigh while you get to work on him, and you’re rewarded with the unmistakable scent of arousal. It mixes with whatever cheap cologne he put on this morning or whenever he last slept. Do hunters sleep?

Karkat’s moaning derails your train of thought and sends it slamming in a more interesting direction. He’s found Dave has no problem getting it up, which duh, you’ve been enjoying figuring out vamp biology for the past thirteen months.

“It’s like deep-throating the iceberg that took down the Titanic,” you offer helpfully, scissoring your fingers inside him while you motion for Dave to toss you the lube.

“Such eloquence, Eridan.” Dave sounds rough around the edges in that way that gets you going. It’s how you end up slicking yourself up and making Karkat moan again when you rut against him: it’s muffled, with Dave halfway down his throat, and you picture his tongue swirling around your fang, swallowing him further, and fuck but you are _really_ _bad_ at pacing yourself, you giant tool.

Whatever. You grip his hips and bury yourself in him. Not gently.

Karkat yells, and gags on Dave, who makes an equally complex noise that obliterates the last of your self-control. You buck your hips hard enough to make the legs of the bed screech along the floor. You’re all really just some weird fuck symphony above the bar, Dave would say if he wasn’t busy tugging Karkat flush against him by the curls. When your eyes focus, you catch a flash of earrings.

“Seriously, Kar? Silver?”

His body kinda shakes in what you take to be a laugh. You snap your hips, content to keep your reign over him. Knife to a gunfight, really, but poor form on his part nonetheless. You guess you admire his dedication.

Speaking of dedication, when Dave climaxes the hunter takes it like a fucking champ, Jesus. He sounds so grateful you almost cross yourself like you’re eight and churchside pretending you’re not screwed in every imaginable way. Hate the sin, love the sinner, blah blah blah. Dave’s saying his name, that’s nice, and then he’s encouraging you, that’s nicer.

Who are you to refuse all that, really?

You reach over Karkat to wrap a hand around his cock, and his moan opens up into an open-mouthed “Goddddddd, god, god, god” when he pulls himself off Dave. Your fang’s shades are gone, and his hands are starting to wander over to your shoulders, his freakish long arms draped lazily over the pair of you.

“Come on, Dan,” he says, and you do, you come so hard you think it might kill you dead.

It doesn’t, because your body is a machine and life is not fair. But it does set your legs to shaking and leaves your blood roaring in your ears, which you accept as your fate. Karkat is quieted for all of thirty more seconds before he starts up on some impressive expletives you and Dave take to be compliments.

You manage to untangle your bodies and crawl onto the bed, tangling in calmer ways with the sheets trapping your feet.

“Hey,” says Karkat into your chest.

“Hey,” you and Dave chorus.

“Did we leave our tab open?”

“Our tab’s always open here. You want another drink? Midnight snack?”

“I am the midnight snack,” Dave insists, raising an index. You smack it out of the air.

Karkat mashes his face into the crook of your collarbone. “Forget it. I cannot fucking show my face down there so soon after….uh, after this.”

“Kar, darlin,” you say with a kiss to his temple, “I promise you the staff here has seen weirder.”


End file.
